Embers
by MourningGlory 7
Summary: "Murtagh, once strong and alive, was gone. He had changed. Changed far too much..." Rated: T for sexual content and graphic violence.
1. Moonlight

A/N- Hello Everyone. If you are reading this I see that you have either found my story on your own or you are a returning reader. I moved from my sister's account mainly to have more space to post stories. I just felt bad about cluttering her story box with stories that weren't hers so I have moved to this account. All my stories will eventually be reposted.

_Chapter One_

_ The moon light shone silvery on the black fortress walls. Two young men crept through the shadows staying close to the stone walls. They stopped at the sound of voices, and ducked into an alcove as the guards stalked by, swords clanging against their chain mail. As the men stepped back out, the moonlight cast their faces into sharp relief. One was lean and muscularly built. His hair was longer than his companions. The other was slightly shorter but just as muscular. His dark skin shone an odd purplish color in the silver light. They both carried a small pack on their backs and had a sword strapped to their belts. The taller one wore a bow slung over his back and had four arrows; fletchings sticking out of the top of his pack. He continued on their way until they reached the outer wall of the city. The two looked up at the East Gate. The great wooden doors were several feet thick and were patrolled by watchmen all the time. Scaling the wall would be risky but the need to escape this cold prison pressed heavily on them. The man with the bow drew it back shooting a hook with a rope attached high into the air. It fell back down and stuck to the edge of the wall. He muttered a quiet "good" before grabbing the rope and beginning to scale the wall. The dark skinned man followed, climbing in pace with the first man. The long haired man reached the top and checked for guards, when he saw none he clamored over the edge and helped his friend onto the wall. They walked across the path and threw the rope over the other edge, checking that it was secure before starting their descent. The shorter man went first followed closely by the second. They moved slowly trying to avoid hurting their hands. When almost seven feet from the ground a voice above them rang out through the warm summer night air, "What is that; hanging from the wall?" it asked._

_ Another very much like it split the silence, "They're trying to enter the city!" it shouted, "cut them down." _

_ The two men had no time to think before they were plummeting several feet and hitting the ground hard. The rolled to their feet and took off at a run. They heard another voice from behind them shout, "Stop them, it's the boy and his servant, Galbatorix will slaughter us all if we let him escape."_

_ They kept running at a break-neck pace. It wasn't until volleys of arrows were flying at them, did they falter. The same voice shouted, "Aim for their legs, dunces, we don't want to kill the boy!"_

_ They kept running as fast as possible, the taller one taking the lead. He turned when the dark skinned one fell to his knees, an arrow piercing his thigh. _

_ "Tornac!" screamed the man still standing._

_ "Keep going boy, I won't have us both d…," the thought was never finished because at that moment an arrow shot the man in the back, protruding from his chest. He fell forward blood pooling from the wound and his open mouth. The man still standing faltered momentarily, but seemed to see reason his companion's words, for he turned and started to sprint away from the city. He knew not where he was going only that he was escaping never to return. Only that his only friend was lying in the dirt bleeding to death, and that he could do nothing to help him_.

The sky was dark and he could hear a fire crackling somewhere nearby. Murtagh rolled over and tried to stand up but realized his hands were tied behind him. He tried to think back at what had happened, but his mind was fuzzy, making it hard to think about anything for too long. He looked in the direction of the crackling fire but could see nothing except for a faint orange glow. Voices floated through the night air enabling Murtagh to define two that he recognized: the Twins. He could hear them talking to what he assumed were some of the king's soldiers. _I knew the Twins were un-trust worthy, _he thought. He felt an invasion into his mind and he threw up the defenses, fighting it back. One of the twins shouted, "He's awake! You were supposed to drug him better morons."

"Sorry, Sir," a soldier said in a gruff voice, "I will go tend to the boy". Murtagh tried to sit up but didn't have the time. The soldier bent over and pushed a cloth down on his face. Murtagh struggled, trying to kick or knee the man away, but to no avail.

A/N- I had Murtagh's arrows in his pack because if you have ever used a bow you would know that when your quiver is not full the arrows rattle quite irritatingly. Yes I realize that the arrows we have now are made of carbon but I assume wooden ones would make a similar noise. So here is a short little one-shot that I randomly felt like writing about Murtagh's back story. Review please! Or not whatever? I really don't care this was just kinda fun to write. More one-shots to come when I get really bored.


	2. Trapped

A/N- I have decided that Embers will be a series of one-shots that have a common thread running through them. Sort of dark fluff here today in this chapter.

He sat at a wooden desk; a piece of parchment was laid out in front him. He grasped a quill in his right hand but seemed unable to write anything. Finally he placed the tip to the paper and wrote two words: "Dear Nasuada,." He placed the quill down and leaning forward resting his chin on his hand, gently traced the name he had written with a finger. A tear slid down his cheek for the woman he loved; no that was wrong: the woman he had loved. He was to forget. By orders of the king he was to surrender all attachment to his previous life but he didn't dare. He couldn't. He looked at his palm to see the silver gedway ignasia, the mark of the rider, branded into it. The mark was new and he had become fascinated by it, although he hated the means by which he came by it. The slightest turn of his head and he could see the small red dragon curled up on his bed.

At one point he had been so young, but not anymore. Over the last months he had grown up into a man far older than his years. He knew too much; he had seen too much for someone of only 20 years. Four months ago he had been a youth so blinded by love to see the path of destruction he left behind him. Too young to realize that the closer he got to people the more he would eventually push them away…

_The room was dark but they need only feel each other. At this time nothing else in the world mattered to either of them. The burning of their love filled the room like a liquid; seeping into the most remote cracks of the room. _

"_Murtagh," She whispered, as though reassuring herself he was there. _

"_Hush now," He placed a finger over her lips and brushed her cheek with the other. She took his hand in hers and brushed her lips against his. He shuddered and she kissed him more fully this time. He wove his fingers with hers and felt her body press closer to him. The two had but a few inches between them. Tonight they would love. Tonight they would memorize each other. They would remember all the curves of their bodies. They would know everything about the other. Tonight was love it its most beautiful form; beautiful, but tragic almost. Tragic in the way two people can love for such a short time. They feel as though they will be here forever. As though they will remain young for all their lives, when really they will grow old and apart eventually. Forget is just as strong as love and is always there, in plain sight, we are all just too afraid to actually think about it when we love. Tragic in the way that one could be swept away and never be seen again. In the same way that people die and are re-born eventually love re-kindles itself, but sometime too late._

He bit his knuckle. Tears ran down his face, but he ignored them and picked his quill back up. "_In a few days time you will receive news that the King has found himself another Forsworn. I assure you I had the Varden on my mind when I made the decision. I am truly sorry that I have disappointed you, my love, in this way but I shall continue to write, informing the Varden of the King's plans and schemes. If I may, I suggest you tell no one of the contact between us for it could prove deadly to either of us if anyone close to the King discovered it. My allegiances are to you and your people before they are to the King but I must admit that I will have to prove myself loyal to him. Even so I shall avoid hurt to you, Eragon, Saphira or any of the other people close to you and vital for the survival of the Varden. Yours sincerely, Murtagh," _He signed then shook his head and drew the ink from the paper. He never signed the note, only rolled it up and placed it beneath his pillow. He blew out the candle on the desk and leaned out the window. The stars never shone through all the light in Uru'baen. The sky was always empty, always a blank wall that went on forever without anything to stop its vastness. He could remember stars though so he imagined them tonight to bring him back to happier times when he needn't worry about anything. When he traveled alone, through the lands, always able to look up and see the stars, never trapped like he was now. He was always trapped though. Just never so clearly.

A/N- Okay that came out really angsty but I like it. I haven't read back over it yet because if I read while I write I lose my train of thought. Hope you liked it. Please review because I think this is some of my best writing (not to sound cocky just a bit proud.) 'Night. I'll try to update within the next few days.


	3. Fight

A/N- Hey again. Not what I was planning to update but whatever. Also I am thinking of doing a song-fic chapter for Murtagh/Nasuada but I'm not sure what song to use. I am torn between Burning in the Skies by Linkin Park and Ten Black Roses by the Rasmus? This one shot will appear much later in the story but I would still like to start it now. Please give me your input.

The months slipped away and his training only got harder. Thorn had quickly grown into a full dragon. The red dragon circled with the black high above Murtagh's head.

"Pay attention!" The king shouted after the young man as he ran through the courtyard, "You have to watch your surroundings as well as your opponent. Use them to your advantage." Murtagh's breath was ragged from the exertion and his heart was pounding in his ears in the heat. The black buildings in Uru'baen collected the sun's heat and brought it down on anyone trying to do anything in the main city. He wanted nothing more than to be up on Thorn right now, to feel the breeze on his face. He brought his attention back to the ground as the King's sword crashed into the pillar beside his head. Murtagh ducked and rolled out of the way quickly before he sprung back up to his feet. Fighting with the King was like fighting with Eragon except the swords' edges weren't protected. You had to constantly be on alert or you could lose a finger, or your head. Galbatorix followed Murtagh's moves, throwing attacks wherever he could. The younger man never missed a move and parried all the advances perfectly. Murtagh tried desperately to get past the King's defenses but it was all he could do just to block the vicious attacks. Finally Murtagh brought his left hand up above his head to block an attack from above, thinking he could spin and switch sword hands without being noticed. The king brought his left palm down on the flat side of the blade and pushed against Murtagh's sword. Murtagh's body burned from the effort of staying standing while the king brought all his weight down on him. He knew his left arm couldn't take much more strain and he was becoming increasingly glad for the flexibility training he had had, for his right leg was slowly sliding out behind him causing his body to sink closer to the ground. He tried as best as he could to use his right arm to slow his defeat but the angle of his sword pressed the blade down onto his thumb causing a thin line of blood to pool around the edge. His knee buckled and he crashed down onto the gravel in the courtyard.

"Dammit!" He shouted throwing his sword at the ground.

"Your movements are rash and ill thought out," the king said, that ever-present hint of anger in his voice.

"I was so close," muttered Murtagh.

The king sheathed his sword with a snap, "There is no almost in dead. I think you'd best learn that. Now again."

Murtagh couldn't help but groan as the man said this. The two men had already removed their tunics and the late summer heat was oppressive and pushed down on their shoulders. They fought and fought through the afternoon heat, each time Murtagh failed to defeat the king. Finally, as the castle walls blocked out the last few rays of sun, Galbatorix sheathed his sword and looked at Murtagh.

"You disappoint me boy. I expected more from the son of Morzan. We are nearly a week away from the attack on the Varden, the soldiers are leaving, and our greatest hope can't even defeat one enemy. Go. We begin again tomorrow at daybreak."

xXx

Murtagh walked to his chambers and leaned on the door frame. At first Murtagh was disappointed in himself for not being enough like his father. After all it's what he should feel, right? He punched the wall. That's not how he should feel! He should be pleased that the king looked at him as a failure. He should be proud of himself for not becoming his father, but deep inside him he knew he was a failure. He was a failure to himself and everyone he had loved. He was slipping and he had to fight it, he just didn't know how.

A/N- Hehe *sheepish look* Took me long enough right? Actually it took me until I watched Robin Hood and went outside and sword fought with my sister in a foot and a half of snow before I wanted to write this story again. Yeah I know brief moment of childhood reversion but yeah… I'll probably update again tonight so keep posted.


	4. Numb

A/N- Please review! I love them they are so much fun and I love to know what people think! Even if it is just to say "Shut the fuck up and stop writing" I honestly don't care.

"_And I know  
I may end up failing too  
But I know  
You were just like me,_

_with someone disappointed in you" _

There were bodies and there was blood; so much blood. It was matted in his hair, and ran in streams over his armor. It coated his sword and trickled down his helm, causing it to drip past his line of sight every once in a while. None of it was his; or at least most of it wasn't. It was all of the men he had killed; the men who would never return, who would never see their wives and children again. But he didn't care; he couldn't care because it would destroy him. If he cared he would be driven mad from the whole of what he had done. So he grew numb, so he could fight and not feel the pain of it all. He spun, beheaded a soldier, and saw what he had come to fight: Hrothgar the king of the dwarves. His death would uproot the dwarves and they, if plans went the way they were intended, would run back to their mountain city. This could win the war for them.

He fought his way towards the dwarven king, slashing his old hand-and-a-half sword to clear his path. He approached from behind but decided it best to fight honorably and face the man he was about to kill.

"Hrothgar," He called to him over the din of battle.

The dwarf king spun and lunged at Murtagh. Murtagh easily blocked him and spun around switching his sword hand. The dwarf had no time to react before the traitor's sword slashed through his body, killing him in one final second. Murtagh moved forward, his helm still in place concealing his face, and stabbed the man through the chest. The dwarf moved no more as Murtagh turned and ran away from the body, in hopes to get lost in the fray.

_"Hatchling!"_ Murtagh heard the words echo through his mind and turned to see the red dragon plummeting out of the sky towards him.

_"How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" _he protested, but jumped with grace he had never had before he had become a Dragon Rider, and grabbed hold of one of the leg straps on the saddle. He pulled himself up into the seat and Thorn sped into the air as Murtagh slid the straps around his calves. They flew to the plateau. He knew Eragon would come, he was always so predictable. Always trying to be the hero, always trying to be what he can't be.

Soon enough Murtagh could see Saphira flying towards them.

_"Thorn, fly" _He told the dragon.

_"My pleasure," _the dragon replied and stretched his red wings out, and with two powerful beats, lifted into the air.

The dragons met in the air and Murtagh met the other rider's eyes, daring him to recognize him.

Eventually, after the dragons tired they landed and the two riders slid to the ground. The two men fought with an intensity only dragon riders and elves could muster. The older wanted desperately for the other to recognize him. As they sparred Murtagh continued to throw in several attacks that he commonly did wanting to see the anger and pain in his brothers acknowledgment of his betrayal. Murtagh attacked viciously not allowing Eragon to get past his defenses. The younger man seemed confused and frightened at his inability to do anything but defend himself.

Murtagh grinned; _Eragon had never fought a dragon rider before, at least not a true one. _In frustration, he finished an attack with his well known flourish. He could see Eragon's eyes widen at the sudden realization at who he was fighting.

"I know you!" shouted the younger.

Murtagh reached up and pulled his helm off, letting it fall to the flat rock. He grinned a derisive grin.

"Traitor!," yelled Eragon again as Saphira hissed threateningly, "You have become everything the Varden feared you would!"

Murtagh laughed, "No. They feared I would become my father. I am so much more powerful than Morzan. I know so much more about magic than he ever did. Galbatorix taught me so many secrets about magic."

Eragon cut across him, "He taught you things that should be kept secret!"

Murtagh shook his head, "If you only knew, your thoughts would be different."

Eragon glared at his previous friend, "That is where you are wrong. You seem to think the two of us as the same…"

Murtagh cut across him, "Ah, but you see, we are the same; mirrors of each other. Brothers 'til the end." He smiled the same smile he had earlier.

"What's that supposed to mean!" yelled Eragon, confused again.

Murtagh reached out and broke through Eragon's battle worn defenses on his mind, and drew most of the energy from him, but left just enough so he was still conscious. The younger rider collapsed to the ground as Murtagh advanced on him.

"We come from the same background, though yours being much more fortunate than mine, mother having gained some brains by the time you came along," He ended his speech allowing for his brother to connect the dots.

Eragon furrowed his brow in fury, "No! That's not possible! I am not his son!"

"Not matter how many times you say that it will stay the same," Murtagh bent down and picked up Zar'roc and un buckled the sheath from around Eragon's belt, "It only seem right that Morzan's sword should go to his eldest and not the youngest."

Eragon looked flustered and angry, "No. I am not like you. I can show mercy while you can't."

Murtagh drew an angered breath, "I am showing mercy that you do not deserve at this very moment." His lip curled into a snarl as he spoke. He pulled at the leather around his belt roughly as he untied the sheath from his old hand-and-a-half sword. He placed the sword back inside it an threw it on the ground next to Eragon. Without another word he turned, placed his helm back over his head and mounted Thorn. The red dragon lifted itself into the air and flew away through all the sulfur in the air.

A/N- Oh this chapter was fun! I am honestly quite proud of my non-nit wit sounding argument at the end here. Also yeah Murtagh is a big butt face in this chapter but that's cause Galbatorix has taken complete control of him and Thorn already. Oh and Bonus points if you know what song the excerpt at the beginning of this chapter comes from.


	5. Decisions

A/N- Okay, I'm on an update high right now. I can't wait to share these chapters with you guys because I have been getting some great feedback from everyone. It makes me so happy to see that people are reading because it makes it worth my time. Thanks for the brilliant reviews! Honestly guys you are too nice (except Tabitha). Joke!

Murtagh squeezed his eyes closed and lay back on his bed. His brain was pounding with the new magics that now resided there. He placed his head on the pillow and could feel something beneath it. He reached under and found the letter he had written to Nasuada. Sorrow washed over him. If he hadn't been able to send it then, there would be no way now.

_"Thorn where are you?" _he called through the mental link.

_"Not far, Hatchling," _Thorn replied, and flew back toward the city.

Murtagh growled slightly at the use of the nickname but decided to let it pass this once. He waited silently until he could hear the dragon's wing beats. He turned just as Thon settled himself precariously on the stone buttress outside the window. The dragon stretched his wings, the color of fresh wine against the sunlight, and placed his head on the sill. He exhaled deeply, letting a puff of smoke escape his nostrils.

Murtagh couldn't help let a small smile sink onto his face. _"Comfortable?" _he asked the dragon.

"_Very,"_ Thorn replied, _"Now I believe you wanted to talk, or did you just pull me away from hunting for no reason?"_

_ "Yes, I would like to ask you something."_ He paused, _"What are we doing?"_

_ "What do you mean?" _

_ "Why are we here? What are we doing? How did this all happen?" _Murtagh was surprised the magical bonds would allow him to think, let along share, his thoughts like he was.

_"It has always been the way hasn't it, Hatchling?"_

Murtagh shook his head, _"No. You should know this. I can remember what it was like before. I can just remember what it felt like to be free for a time. You should see those memories Thorn, you would enjoy them. I had fun and love and choices. Unfortunately I chose the easy route when it came to decisions."_

_ "You have done no wrong, only what you thought best," _consoled the dragon.

_"You only enable me to sink deeper into this hell, Thorn," _Murtagh glared at the dragon, _"You are constantly allowing my mind to make its decisions before my heart has the chance to consider."_

_ "Who are you to talk of hearts?"_ the dragon, turned its head towards its rider, angry.

_ "You are the one I should be asking that." _Murtagh responded, deadly calm, _"You gave yours to Galbatorix."_

The dragon's eyes flashed with the hurt of his rider's words, _"I made my decision carefully and it has benefited us well."_

_ "This is all beside the point." _Murtagh began.

_"It is to be expected, Hatchling, that you would want to destroy a world who has been so cruel to you for so long."_

_ "That is no excuse." _Murtagh's voice had a note of finality to it, yet the red dragon wanted to continue the discussion. Murtagh lay back against the pillow again allowing the parchment he had been holding the whole conversation to fall to the floor. Thorn decided to keep his silence and rested his head on the window sill again and closed his eyes. Both man and dragon sunk into a deep sleep of broken dreams and nightmares of dead men.

xXx

Nasuada sat at her desk her hand resting on her stomach. She was naïve to believe that this wouldn't happen. She had been careless and acted like a young girl when she had allowed herself to become so close to the son of Morzan. She liked that: careless. It was the best way to describe her situation. She had already made plans with her servant Farica. Nasuada knew she could trust Farica to keep her secrets. This was acceptable for servants; in fact in most places it was to be expected. But for people of her social standard it was an unwelcome mistake that women of high class were smart enough to avoid. Except for her.

She sat back in her chair and exhaled loudly.

A/N- Okay Tabitha this was gonna be an 'eating rainbows and shitting butterflies' happy 'together' chapter, but again it turned out angst-y and dark. I apologize for the filler chapter.


	6. Kill

A/N- Yeah! Okay so there is a huge time skip between the last chapter and this one(like 700 pages of book) but I am on a roll now so nothing can stop me.

"_This is not the end, this is not the beginning  
Just a voice like a riot rocking every revision  
But you listen to the tone and the violent rhythm  
Though the words sound steady something empty's within them  
We say yeah with fists flying up in the air  
Like we're holding onto something that's invisible there  
Cause we're living at the mercy of the pain and the fear  
Until we're dead it, forget it, let it all disappear."_

Chapter Six

He was fighting again. That's all he ever did anymore. He fought with decent men that deserved to die. The cold red blade of Zar'roc flashed in the waning sunlight as he spun around and around turning in some sort of macabre dance of death. It was his life now; to dispose of the rebels: the Varden and the elves. Tonight though he fought the elves, which is why he was so important to Galbatorix that he be there, because normal soldiers could not stand a chance against the superior elves. He continued to fight for many tiring hours.

Then came a steady sound barely audible over the sound of clashing metal, but Murtagh could hear it. A gentle steady beat like that of a war drum. It was the sound of wing beats. Some of the soldiers around him looked around them in confusion but Murtagh glared up at the darkening sky with a loathing hatred. Eragon and Saphira were here.

He called out to Thorn, _"Thorn! Shadeslayer and his dragon have arrived I need you. Know!"_

_ "I will be there soon, Hatchling," _Thorn said, his voice echoing through Murtagh's mind.

The man turned back to the sky in time to see the dragon and its rider emerging from the cloud cover. But the dragon wasn't blue and the rider wasn't Eragon. The dragon shone a deep golden, like that of honey. And the rider, though rather elderly and frail, had a look about him that was of only vast intelligence and power. Murtagh did not want to face this ancient pair. He could feel anger welling inside him. At first it was foreign and he wanted to get rid of the feeling, but he warmed to the idea of the hatred and need to kill this new dragon rider. How dare they not help him in his time of need? If they really were as old as they must be they should know everything about ancient magics and bonds. They could have helped him. It was wrong. They must die.

_"Thorn, where are you? It wasn't who I thought. The elves have been hiding another dragon rider and his dragon, as the king suspected," _Murtagh called out again, looking to the skies again.

_"I am coming. I got waylaid by a large folly of arrows. They stung badly but all the ones who hurt me are dead now." _The dragon answered, as it swooped out of the sky, landing with a ground shaking crash in the middle of battle, managing to crush several enemies in the process.

Murtagh ran to him and quickly strapped himself into the saddle, before the dragon took off to defeat the other pair.

xXx

Oromis glanced down at the break in the clouds. He and Glaedr had flown above the clouds to protect the other elves.

_"Glaedr," _the elf said, _"Where are they, can you feel them? I cannot."_

The golden dragon twisted his sinuous neck around to look briefly at his rider. He was concerned for Oromis, though he didn't let it show. _"I do not see nor feel them. It worries me. Either the Red Rider and his dragon are afraid or they have powerful magic on their side."_

Oromis turned in the saddle as well to seek out the elusive pair. He turned back to the front in time to see the blood red dragon flying towards them. Glaedr pulled his wings in close to him, making a tent like structure around Oromis. The golden dragon fell several feet, in hopes to avoid the head on attack from Thorn, but the red dragon reacted much faster than he would have thought possible. Thorn banked sharply to the side and then to the other crashing into Glaedr's left side. Glaedr and his rider shot to the right with the impact. The dragons fought viciously lost purely in the thought of survival leaving their rider to cling desperately to their saddles.

Glaedr risked speaking to his rider, _"We should land. The young one will follow. This is a dragon's fight and there is no need for you to be whipped around like a rag doll." _The gold dragon angled himself toward the ground and folded his wings around Oromis again. The two of them plummeted downward to the ground. Thorn and Murtagh followed close behind.

A few feet from the ground Glaedr pushed his wings out against the wind and landed softly on the ground. Oromis slid down, in time to see Murtagh leap off of Thorn's back and roll out of the landing. Glaedr took off after the crimson dragon.

_"Be careful now," _Glaedr warned his rider, _"This rider is stronger than we thought. He has more power than he should. I fear he will be a terrible opponent."_

Oromis glanced at his soul partner briefly before returning his eyes to the dark haired man in front of him. _"You be careful. His dragon is very cunning and much more agile than you have ever been. Watch out for him and don't allow your weak side to him."_

_ "I have been fighting very long Oromis. You need not worry about me."_

_ "You're right but I still worry for you."_

xXx

Murtagh glared at the old elf. He drew Zar'roc with a flourish and pointed it at his opponent. "Will you fight me dragon rider?" he asked the other rider as a challenge.

He watched as the elf drew his golden sword and the two waited for the other to attack first. Murtagh attacked out of impatience and the two swords crashed together. The riders' feet moved with the rhythm of their battle. The two fighters were sweating under their armor but both refused to give up. This was a fight to the death, and both knew it. Neither fighter was getting the upper hand in the fight though Murtagh could tell the elf's energy was decreasing as his stayed the same.

xXx

Thorn tore through the air away from the larger dragon. Something inside him didn't want to kill the ancient being but his rider's hatred dug at his insides, pressing him to do what was needed. He spread his wings wide to stop himself and turned over in the air so that he was facing the other dragon. Glaedr crashed into him shoving him backward, further into the air. Thorn scrabbled and twisted trying to get free of the golden dragon but he couldn't so he pulled his back legs up against his opponent's chest and scratched violently at it. His claws left dark crimson streaks along Glaedr's underside. Thorn attacked this time, with a burst of fire. Glaedr matched it with a blaze of his own. The two dragons tried desperately to best the other with their flames until Thorn flinched in fear. A voice rang out across the battle worn city. It was deep and rich. A voice of evil. The voice of the man who hurt him and his rider. Thorn went to retreat and fly to help his rider but his magical bonds to the King stopped him.

For the longest time the King's voice spoke and the elf answered it. The two dragons fought

xXx

Murtagh could hardly think about what was happening before he did it. He could remember saying the words 'My mind is the only sanctuary that hasn't been stolen from me' at one time, but this was no longer true. His sword struck at the elf with movements he didn't know. He spoke spells he never heard before. He swung his sword against the ancient rider with renewed strength and energy.

xXx

Thorn returned his attention back to the golden dragon, just in time to see the dragon lunging toward himself. Thorn rolled to the side and scratched at the older dragon's legs. Glaedr howled as Thorn's ivory claws left bloodied gashes in his golden scales. Thorn felt proud.

xXx

Glaedr's heart filled with remorse as he could feel his riders energy depleting. The dragon knew what was to come, and he prepared himself for the pain. All the preparing in the world could not have prepared him for the agony that came to him as his partner fell in battle. He let a savage roar escape his strong jaws before he dove into a downward fall. His wings were pinned against his side and he could feel the wind rushing past his scales.

He landed next to Oromis and wrapped his body around the dying elf, much like an over large cat. His tail wrapped around his rider and he lay his head down on top of it. He fought all he could to keep his beloved rider from dying but he could hear Oromis in his mind.

_"Let me go Glaedr. I have lived many long years, it is time I leave this world," _said the elf.

Glaedr reluctantly let the connection between them fade as the elf passed into the void. The golden dragon closed his eyes tiredly and died as well. He could not go on without his rider.

xXx

Murtagh fell over in physical exhaustion. His whole body ached deeply and his muscles gave protest every time he flinched. He rolled over and saw the dragon and rider lying on the battlefield. He yelled and dropped Zar'roc.

"No…no…no," He muttered to himself. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes and he ran to the bodies. He looked at the two: man and dragon; so completely at peace. A yell escaped his lips as he realized what he had done. He choked back a sob and knelt next to the pair.

"Se mor'ranr ono finna," He spoke in the ancient language, "wyrda heill wiol ono, un du wereld gala tiesta." He reached forward and closed the elf's eyes. He picked up Oromis' golden sword and turned and placed his hand on Thorn's face, then climbed onto the dragon's back.

The two flew to a near hill, where they could still see the battle field. Murtagh slid down the red dragon's side and walked to the edge of the cliff face. He thrust the golden sword into the ground in an act of victory that lost all effect when he fell to his knees and leaned on the hilt. Both of his hands gripped the sword's hilt and he leaned his forehead on the yellow diamond inlaid there. Tears streamed down his cheeks and landed in the grass by his knees. Thorn placed his nose on his riders back in equal remorse.

To kill someone so powerful; so old and so important was something he could never forgive himself for.

A/N- Just so you know this chapter is 1,887 words long. So happy frickin' holidays! Oh and what Murtagh says in the ancient language: May you find peace, fate heal for you, and the world sing of you. I did some patching with 'wereld' and 'tiesta' because the words 'world' and 'of you' do not exist yet in the canon series.


	7. Nasuada

A/N- *Sigh* Only in suffering do we recognize beauty. In other words since I cannot update or even log in at the moment I have begun to write again. It's also been a while since I've done any research in this fandom so there are probably a lot of liberties taken here.

Chapter 7: Nasuada

Nasuada's heart was heavy. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She looked up at the tear stained face of Eragon, and felt like crying too.

"What you…," she stopped talking to collect herself, "This cannot be true, Shadeslayer."

Eragon bowed his head, "I speak with much remorse," he stated.

She wanted to scream and cry and hurt someone at the news. Or at least her hormones did. What she really did was lean forward on the desk and fold her hands, "This will affect our strategy greatly. We will have to redo entire battle plans. I will give you a day to mourn and then I will expect you in my tent at sunrise." She watched as he left and squeezed her eyes closed. She felt hot tears swell forward and spill over her cheeks. She couldn't help herself. All the messages she had been given from the Varden's various armies were not good. He had been destroying her forces and killing her men. Murtagh was not on her side and yet she still cried for him. Oromis and Glaedr were dead and she was crying over a traitor. How could she have let this happen to herself? She placed a hand on her swollen stomach. No one knew about the baby, which was how she wanted it. It was almost due to come and she was scared everyday for what it would become. It was the worst thing to think about, she knew, but she couldn't help herself but wonder about, in twenty years, where it would be and what it would be doing. She could imagine it killing innocent people. She hoped it was a girl. Though look where she ended up. If her father were still alive he would never have let her do this. A girl needs her father to stay grounded, even at her age. In that case she hoped it was a boy, then at least it could grow up barefoot, learn how to fight, and never have to depend on anyone. But then she thought of Murtagh, and wished to all the powerful beings out there that she wasn't pregnant in the first place.

Oh hellfire was childbirth painful! She was sweating and the painful contractions pulsed through her body. She pushed when told and breathed when told, but none of it was helping. This child wasn't coming out if it had anything to say about it. It felt like eons ago that this had started but really it was only a matter of hours (which are eons if you're in pain). Fourteen hours later she had a baby boy. Well, Farica had a baby boy and she had to get up in the morning to head war meetings. She groaned at the thought of them. Her head lay back on soft pillow and someone placed a light blanket over her tired form. Sweat still shone on her skin, sticking her hair to her face and shoulders. Her eyes drifted closed in the dark room and she drifted into aimless dreams.

The men were loud the next morning. She closed her eyes in a failed attempt to block it out. Why did they have to argue all the time? Everyone knows they're all wrong so why do they have to insist they are right?

Her eyes shot open, "Quiet!" She bellowed and walked towards the table, where a worn map of Alagaesia was rolled out. "Here's what we do, we speed this war up. We continue North towards the capitol and the elves, if they are still with us," she stopped and glanced to Arya.

Arya nodded, "Mine are. I do not know about my mother's but I would feel quite sorely for them if they gave up now. We may be elves, but even we need vengeance."

"Good. Then if Queen Islanzadi is still fighting, as I believe she will be, they will push down upon the capitol from the North," she stopped to make sure everyone was listening, "This war cannot go on as it is."

People argued, some of the elves didn't think it was good enough, but she stood her ground and defended her battle plan. She pulled Eragon aside at the end, "I need to talk to you. What I am about to tell you no one will know of before it happens. Tonight you will fly off. Eat well tonight Shadeslayer for you will need your energy. By morning you will have reached the capitol and by mid afternoon you will have disposed of the Red Rider."

"But how will I be assured that Galbatorix will not fight me himself?" Eragon felt a surge of fear jolt through him. He'd been training for months in magic and swordsmanship but he wasn't ready to fight the King yet.

"Galbatorix loves power too much to surrender it all if there are still pawns to play," Nasuada reassured, "I know this will be hard for you, for you obviously still care for him, but this war will never end as long as Murtagh is alive. He will continue to do the Kings bidding and kill all our men. The world could fall into a much depression than it was before the war."

"I do not care for him at all. He has betrayed my trust and will never be heard of again after tomorrow, I will make sure of that," Eragon said with a bow and walked out.

If only Nasuada felt the same way.

The moon was bright across the plains as Eragon and Saphira flew out of Surda.

xXx

The next months hurdled by in a flurry of feasts in his honor, women in his bed, and so much more training. He hated it all. His body ached and his brain was on fire. Something was wrong and he didn't know what it was. It haunted everything he did and destroyed every feeling he'd ever liked. Everything he did he could feel something pulling at the back of his mind. It reminded him, strangely, of a puppeteer fiddling with the strings just to make sure they were still attached to his puppet.

A/N- Hmmmm. I see we can post again so… Oh and for any of my readers of Roses are Red, I have been feeling very angsty recently so let's hope for the best shall we. I can't promise anything though because it will never happen if I do. Oh and the part with Murtagh at the end of the chapter is running tandem to the beginning of this chapter.


	8. Kings

A/N- okay for any confusion that may have ensued from last chapter. That bit at the end was running tandem to the beginning on the story and was about Murtagh. What happened there was I had more written but I liked just the bit I posted so I deleted the rest and posted what I had left, but I never mentioned his name in the bit I posted, even though I did in the part I deleted. Just clearing it up sorry. And now for chapter eight….

Chapter 8: Kings

"_Hopeless and taken,  
We stole our new lives,  
Through blood and pain,  
In defense of our dreams.  
We were the Kings and Queens of promise  
We were the victims of ourselves…"_

The city was a mess of people running around gathering belongings and some even children. In the early hours of the morning a soldier had spotted Eragon and Saphira just at the edge of a small town some twenty miles away. The King had roused all his soldiers and sent out messengers to all the Empire cities for help. The dragon rider's appearance meant nothing but war so they would meet the Varden with a military force of historical proportions. The Empire would not fall without glory. Murtagh knew it would be several days before the whole army got here but it would take longer for the Varden, meaning that the King's troops would be rested and well fed while the Varden's would be travel weary. The odds were in his favor, Murtagh knew but he felt a dread growing in him as a chill wind swept over the plain. He looked out from a balcony on the castle wall, at the rain that Eragon must be flying through right now. There was a defined gray sheet that told him that it wasn't just rain it was a torrential downpour, perhaps even a storm. He grumbled to himself about fighting in that. He rested his hand on the pommel of Zar'roc. Despite its name, Misery, the sword had been his one single comfort over the months. It made him think of Eragon and Brom, even though Galbatorix thought it only reminded him of his father. Even though Morzan had killed so many men and dragons alike with it, Brom had triumphed and taken the sword from its dead master's hands. Brom was a good, strong man who didn't deserve what he got. Murtagh's brain seared causing him to raise a hand to his temple. He still had no clue what did that to him. Every time he got close his head would begin pounding so dreadfully Murtagh thought he might die, so he stopped trying.

He turned to look at Thorn and was met with a glare, _"Please stop thinking, Hatchling. It's not good for either of us."_

Murtagh growled under his breath, _"You don't understand how hard it is. You never knew anything else but this misery," _There it was again, burning at the back of his mind.

Thorn growled and spit fire, _"It hurts us both. Stop it now before I fry you."_

Murtagh turned away back to the gray wall of rain sweeping over the plains. He thought he saw something and focused in on it. It was a dot of blue ever so small, but there all the same. He swung onto Thorn's back and strapped his legs into the saddle.

He heard Eragon draw his sword just before the rain hit them. It struck with such a force Murtagh was almost blown backwards but he grabbed the spike in front of him and held himself down. He reached down, drew Zar'roc from its sheath and turned back to find Eragon. He could hardly see anything through the rain, and was glad that Eragon could probably see less. Murtagh reached out his mind and found the two above them. He knew how to sneak in their minds without them knowing and even if they wanted to they couldn't find him and Thorn, for their minds were blocked with so many barriers he doubted anyone could read his thoughts. Thorn sped upwards and crashed his tail into Saphira's underbelly. The blue dragon howled and lashed out with her talons but Murtagh and Thorn were out of her reach. They fought for a very long time and after each blow the blue dragon and her rider took Murtagh felt sure that he would win this fight.

_"Thorn fly back, you're losing blood. I'll heal you and we can return to battle," _Murtagh spoke through the mental connection.

Thorn ignored his rider and crashed into Saphira in a flash of claws and teeth.

_"Thorn!" _ Murtagh shouted at his dragon.

_"Shut up Hatchling!" _The dragon said back

Murtagh growled at his dragon, _"I know what I'm doing."_

_ "We can't let them get away. They will try and there will be much pain for the both of us if they escape."_

"Dammit Thorn! Flay back!" Murtagh shouted out loud, realizing the fear Thorn harbored for Galbatorix. Saphira crashed into their right side. Murtagh was wrenched from the saddle, the leg straps having snapped from the impact. He tried hard to grab hold of something as his body was lurched from his dragon. He dropped Zar'roc in the process and failed to grab hold of anything so he fell the remaining feet to the ground. He swore as his right hand began to bleed from the blade of his own sword, and thanked the gods they were flying as low as they had been.

Thorn spun over several times to absorb the blow and then landed a few feet from his rider, favoring one leg. Murtagh got to his feet and ran to the red dragon to heal the major wounds. Saphira landed shortly after allowing Eragon to slide from her back to the ground. Murtagh spun and cursed himself for leaving his sword on the ground a good fifteen feet away.

Eragon spoke, "Nasuada sent me to kill you but I give you one last chance," Eragon lowered his sword slightly.

Murtagh ran to grab his sword out of the mud, "A chance to do what?" asks with a bitter tone.

"A chance to explain yourself. You have betrayed the trust of all of us," Eragon spoke his words slipping through his lips, the voice much more grown than Murtagh had ever heard.

"What make you think I ever wanted your trust?" growled Murtagh, raising his sword.

"I know you wanted it. You had it too; before you threw everything away. I just want to know why," Eragon spoke.

Murtagh's broke into a laugh. Eragon found the laugh disturbing, as though it came from a man much younger than the one who stood before him. Murtagh spoke, bitterly the ghost of a laugh still in his voice, "Acting like a king already, Shadeslayer? And the war isn't even won yet."

Murtagh took a deep breath and stayed silent for a moment, seeing if Eragon felt like replying. When his brother offered no words he continued, "What makes you feel that you can demand my reasons like a king. Who are you Shadeslayer? A poor farm boy from the north who stumbled across a dragon egg in the woods? That doesn't make you special, it makes you lucky. Sheer luck has brought you where you are." The dark haired man allowed the other to speak again, but like before, continued. "You want to know my reason? I am not lucky. I'm not like you. I was raised for this. I was raised to be who I am and I can fight it all I want, but why try when there is food on my table, a bed kept warm by the servants who do my bidding every hour, shelter, and the promise of power?"

"For honor," Eragon answered almost instantly.

Murtagh laughed that strange laugh again, "My dear boy, do you honestly think that kingdoms are run by honor! Do you think people cower before us because they think we're honorable? Do people pay their taxes because it's the honorable thing to do? Where does honor get anyone? Honor gets a man a nice place six feet below the ground. Honor gets a man nothing!" Murtagh spoke, "Kings don't rule with honor, they rule with power and pride. That's what makes the people pay and fear him so."

"Honor is the difference of Alagaesia now and Alagaesia after the Varden have won this war," Eragon said.

"Once again you speak like a king," Murtagh hissed, "We'll see how long that lasts."

The older man swung his crimson sword at Eragon. He was ready and blocked the attack quickly and without much effort. Murtagh feigned to the right and struck to the left again. Eragon dodged the hit around Murtagh using the butt of his sword to knock Murtagh's helm off. The metal clanged as it hit the ground. Murtagh's dark hair was pulled back roughly and fell around his face. The dark haired man spun around to face his opponent again and struck only to meet metal again. He swore. Eragon had definitely trained since their last meeting and he was good. Murtagh swallowed hard feeling fear well inside him. He would not fear his brother. He was weak and deserved no power. Murtagh collected himself and spun a series of attacks the surely Eragon could not counter all of. Surely enough one slipped by his defenses leaving a gash across the younger's cheek. A near fatal hit. Next time he would make sure it was deeper and stronger. He swung his sword again hearing the clang of armor from the other man. Murtagh wore no heavy armor, only thick, leather traveler's armor protected his body. The two men swung their swords for what seemed like an eternity, rain soaking their bodies, mud splattering their armor and faces, blood dripping from what wounds they'd procured. Both were tired and worn but they continued to fight, paying attention to only the other. Murtagh broke from the fight, panting and mud splattered. Eragon took the chance to catch his breath as well.

"These are the moment that bring men alive," shouted Murtagh over the sound of the rain, "These moments, in battle, so close to death, are the moment when we feel more alive than ever. Am I right Shadeslayer?"

Eragon didn't answer for he had brought his attention to the dragons that stood on the ground just visible beyond the gray curtains of rain. Until just recently, they creatures had been entwined in battle as their riders had been, but now the dragons had fallen silent. Murtagh glanced as well, still panting. _"Thorn." _He spoke but the dragon offered no reply, he didn't even make any suggestion he had even heard his rider. The older man looked to his brother, who seemed to be in as much confusion as he was. Several minutes passed of the dragons' silence and the mens' constant fight to gain access to their dragon's mind again.

Eragon started suddenly, "SAPHIRA NO!" He shouted so loudly that his voice seemed to echo for miles. He dropped his sword and ran towards the dragon's.

Murtagh jumped, and at the same time Thorn's voice rang through his head.

_"Hatchling, I am sorry, but it is the only way…"_ Murtagh was confused for a fraction of a second and then realized, with a jolt of horror, what his dragon was about to do. He yelled and ran after his brother.

Thorn let loose a horrible scream that rent the air with a shattering force. Murtagh forced himself to look at his dragon. Saphira had grabbed hold of Thorn's neck with her massive jaws and was biting hard, crushing his backbone and shredding important arteries. Thorn would be dead within minutes. Saphira let go and stepped back several paces as the crimson dragon fell. Murtagh fell to his knees the burning in his head and heart too much to support him. Tears fell down his cheeks. He didn't remember them starting but they forced their way through the blood and dirt on his face, leaving crooked lines in their wake. He screamed falling against Thorn's ravaged neck. His energy was drained and his body felt like it was shutting down. Every inch of him was in pain and burning with sorrow. He fell, his whole body going limp, falling across the neck of the giant creature. A pool of blood spread across the muddied ground, mixing with the mud slowly.

xXx

Eragon flew back to the Varden. News of the Red Rider's death would please everyone, but Eragon drew a shaky breath at the thought. He had seen the pain in those eyes. He had watched his brother die in so much pain. He never wanted that for Murtagh. Not even a traitor deserved that much punishment. Eragon blocked Saphira out of his mind. They had argued some of the way back to Surda and now they had settled into a silent pledge that involved neither talking to the other. Eragon saw the vast army stretching out before him and Saphira plunged onto a steep dive.

Eragon pulled the tent flap back and entered the tent. Now was the moment that he would restore hope to all the rebels. The Red Rider was dead. Eragon smiled.

A/N- Taduh! Chapter Eight complete!


	9. Embers

A/N: Note for some of my readers: this chapter is rather questionably M rated. I have been recently failing at limits since my obsession started with George R.R. Martin's "Song of Ice and Fire" series. Also the subject matter of this chapter is not for young eyes. Anyway this chapter explains the title for the whole story. Sorry for the obscenely long absence.

Chapter 9: Embers

The room was smoky and the smell of love and sweat hung in the air. The late summer heat remained heavy in his chambers despite the sun having gone down several hours before. He turned to look at the girl on the bed. He had never seen her before tonight. Her copper skin shone with sweat and her cheeks were lightly flushed. Her dark hair fell in loose curls to her mid back. She had her eyes closed and seemed at peace. He watched her chest heave in her attempt to catch her breath. He took a sip of wine and walked back to her.

"What's your name?" he asked, his voice tainted with lust and drink.

She didn't respond at once; just laid there with her eyes closed and chest rising up and down, "Names are just words. I could lie and who would know?" Her voice was sweet like honey, but she spoke from her throat making her words twist in his ears.

Her eyes were gold. He hadn't noticed before and he wouldn't remember tomorrow. "I would know." He said with a smile.

She smiled back sadly, "No you wouldn't."

He took another sip of wine and took in her naked form again. Her arms and back, he noticed, were patterned with dye. Intricate vines decorated with flowers and leaves wrapped themselves around her arms and met each other at the base of her neck. On her left shoulder there was a dragon that wove itself around the vine there. He wanted to reach out and trace its lines, but he couldn't make himself do it. It felt odd to look at it so he took a long swig of the sweet wine.

"People call me Anyalaya," Her voice interrupted his drinking.

He stood and refilled his cup, "You're not lying."

"I'm not," She placed her hands on his hips and pulled herself up to sit in front of him. Her soft finger tips skated across his skin as she leaned forward to kiss his jaw. He closed his eyes at the feel of her fingers. She pulled her head away from his briefly, only to return to his lips this time. Her hair was so black and lovely he couldn't take his eyes off of it. Her beautiful black hair made him angry, for it reminded him of Nasuada. He pushed her back roughly. She fell back onto the pillows gently, as though she had expected him to push her away; as though she had been baiting him. Another sad smile crept across her face.

Anger surged through him at the look on her face. He threw his goblet at the wall. The stone there drank the redness hungrily. She was still smiling. Why was she not scared? He wanted her to be scared. He wanted to feel powerful. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and beat her bloody against the wall and maybe fuck her after.

He kissed her deep and hard. He pulled at her lips with his teeth so hard he could taste blood. It wasn't a kiss for passion or feeling; it was a kiss for the sake of kissing.

She pulled back from him, placing her hands on either side of his face, "You miss her too much. You should forget."

He stared at her, "Don't talk about her. You don't know anything about me," He growled at her.

She stroked his right cheek bone with the pad of her thumb, "I know more about you then you will ever understand."

He watched her talk, every word making him hurt worse. He slapped her across the face. She didn't flinch at the sudden contact. He went to slap her again but her hand caught his before he made contact.

"Think about yourself and what you do. Would she be proud? She doesn't deserve the pain you give her every day," Her gold eyes were sad as she spoke, her hand still wrapped tightly around his wrist, "Let her go. Let her love someone worthy of her. Let yourself see who you really are and let her go."

He felt the anger wash from his blood. He pulled his hand out of her grasp and closed his eyes, hoping to calm himself. He didn't care how she knew these things by now. He wanted her to go but all the same he wanted her to stay. Maybe she could stay forever and he could lose himself in her whenever he wanted. Or maybe she should go and never be seen again.

She watched him with careful eyes. She moved her hands from his face to his hips again. She pressed her thumbs into his hip bones.

He opened his eyes and glared at her. He didn't mean anything by the glare, it was merely a facial expression he made often enough it felt natural.

Her left hand went to the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of her. She didn't pull his lips to hers', however.

"Every man is a fire. Sometimes that fire is neglected and dwindles to coals. A good man doesn't let that happen, a weak man lets his fire go out. It's the strongest of men that can build their fires back from the embers and start a new," she whispered just audible, "Don't let you fire go out Murtagh." She kissed him, this time it was a real kiss. Not a kiss he paid for and not a kiss he forced out of her; a tender kiss filled with admiration and joy.

xXx

Alone. So alone. Forever alone. Empty, broken, destroyed.

The air around him was so cold. The rain was still falling and he watched the grey sky fall on him. He shivered. He'd never be warm again. He'd never be whole again. Murtagh wondered if he closed his eyes right now if he'd ever wake up. He closed them to try. All he could see was her though. Her eyes were golden. He smiled at the thought of them. The world faded away from him again and he slipped into the darkness again.

A/N- Okay, so, yeah, this was definitely M rated. Sorry. This chapter was originally much later in the story but I wanted to write it today and I thought it actually fit better here. The first part of the story is a flashback obviously and is meant to be vague as it's told from inside Murtagh's head. I am so exhausted from the horribly coarse character Murtagh is in this chapter. It turned out a lot more horrible than I had intended. Apologies.


	10. Alone

Chapter 10: Alone

"_You were standing in the wake of devastation  
And you were waiting on the edge of the unknown…  
You were there, impossibly alone"_

Alone. So alone. Forever alone. Empty, broken, destroyed.

He was cold, so cold and alone. He knelt before the king but didn't see the room. He was somewhere else really. Back in the air where he was happy and free. He could never be there again. Galbatorix spoke but the words were unknown to Murtagh. All he knew was that Galbatorix was disappointed. He was too.

xXx

The king studied the boy before him. He was a boy now. Lost and hurt. His hair was ragged and blood clotted, his eyes were hollow and lifeless. Murtagh, once strong and alive, was gone. He had changed. Changed far too much. Galbatorix knew what he was feeling. The pain and abandonment; he, too, had felt these once before many years ago.

xXx

Murtagh was dead inside. He couldn't feel anything, just empty. It was finally over. He had reached the end and he couldn't be more desperate for it. He wanted the feel of that last breath. He longed for the last view of the world he had grown to hate. Deep inside of him he could feel the life in him but the emptiness left behind by the life lost was too much to ignore.

xXx

Galbatorix looked at Murtagh in disdain and hatred. This boy had caused so much trouble and had failed too many times. The king cared nothing for feelings. They were pointless and hindered ones abilities. He hated feelings. He dove into Murtagh's mind and pulled forward memories. Pain is always the best punishment, and nothing hurts more than loss.

xXx

Murtagh howled out in pain. Images of his past flashed past his mind_. There he was in his father's study, bleeding to death at the age of three…His mother was leaving; he knew she wouldn't return… Now Tornac was dying on the ground, blood pooling in the dust…Nasuada…Thorn hatching…Their first flight…_

"Stop!" Murtagh shouted. He hadn't meant to but it came out. His face was wet from tears, and his breathing caught in his chest as his body racked with sobs.

"And why should I," Galbatorix asked, his voice a cold snarl. He made his way to the dark haired boy on the floor, knelt down, and pulled his head back so their eyes met. "Why should I stop my punishment? There was never any end to your betrayals or failures, so why should I stop the punishment for those crimes?"

Murtagh tried to wrench himself away from the man's grip but his body refused to follow his mind's commands. The king brought his fingernails up the side of Murtagh's face tracing thin lines in the gore soaked skin.

Murtagh's mind was met with another bought of painful memories that he had long forgotten. The king had full control of his mind right now. Murtagh didn't care.

His back arched and he dug his fingernails into his palms as he let out a long scream. He had forgotten these things for a reason and now the king pulled them forward turning them into rotten bits of torture, meant to only turn the world against him more. Murtagh pushed the king out and retched on the floor. He was dizzy and couldn't see anything straight and he wished the King would get on with killing him. But then again, he supposed the King wasn't going to kill him.

xXx

Galbatorix studied the boy before him. The young man was changed and the King knew he should force him to swear fealty again, for even now he could feel the binds breaking, but something stopped the cold man from forcing such things on a person so torn to pieces. Murtagh wouldn't think of leaving, he wouldn't be able to think of anything through the loss. Galbatorix signaled to two of the guards and instructed them to take Murtagh to his quarters.

xXx

Murtagh didn't remember most of the last hours. It didn't seem important enough to bother his mind with those hours, so he was living in the moment. The room was silent and empty, everything untouched since this morning. The bed was a shambles, the desk was as ink stained and scratched as ever and the fire had long since burned out. He glared at the fireplace and lit it from his position in the middle of the room. Flames sprang to life and crackled jovially. He watched the flames for an undeterminable time. He couldn't do anything except just to stand in the center of the room and study the familiar landscape. In that moment he realized that the room wasn't familiar to him at all. It was as though everything here belonged to a close friend he hadn't seen in a long time. It was the same as it always was, but underneath he could feel the unwelcoming coldness that everything brought. He was angry; he didn't realize it until then, but his mind was searing with a primal loathing.

He moved toward the desk and stared down at all the battle plans he'd drawn. He'd worked on them for months, planning complicated military maneuvers for any situation. He could remember the late nights bent over these papers, but they seemed so long ago. He hated that he was going to help the mad King. He swept everything off the desk with a yell, sending ink bottles breaking over the floor, walls and the bed. The papers fluttered to the floor among the quills and ink spills. He burned everything.

Everything in the room was destroyed, as he settled down on the floor where he had been standing earlier. The anger had passed and a new wave of sorrow swept over him. Little charred bits of paper fell to the ground like black snow, from the fireplace. Murtagh closed his eyes, laying his head on his knees, pulling his mind deep within himself. He was meditating so deeply any healer would have proclaimed him in a "death sleep."

xXx

Months passed since the day of Thorn's death. The late harvest rains turned to the first snows, blanketing the lands in white. Most of Murtagh's time had been spent in his destroyed quarters, in the coma like trances. When he was comatose he couldn't feel the pain or the loss, like he did when he was awake. This was everything he was now; a broken shell of a man. He felt nothing anymore except the emptiness. He had lost weight over the months from the nearly constant fast he put himself under. Every couple of weeks he would eat just enough to keep himself going, and even that was just an instinct. He never really meant to eat he would just forget he wasn't supposed to.

xXx

The deep winter had set in and the world was a frozen place; still, quiet, and cold. The winter winds that blew through the windows of Uru'baen wrapped icy fingers around Murtagh, freezing him to the bone. Sometime between the autumn and now he found that when he went into his self inflicted comas he could remember more of his past. He did his best to remember the happy moments of his life. He liked to think of his mother. He never really remembered her before, but now he could remember the exact color of her hair and the way her eyes sparkled as she looked down at him. He remembered the feel of her shirt beneath his small hands and the sound of her heart beating when she held him close. He could feel the warmth of her salty tears on his face when she kissed him goodbye for the last time. No one had ever loved him like that since.

This time he closed his eyes and thought of dragons.

xXx

It was cold when he woke. His flesh was icy and numb, but he wasn't thinking of that. There were no stars, and no moon shone through the window. It would snow later he knew. Murtagh glanced at the fireplace to his right: the fire was out. He didn't feel the need to light it as he wasn't going to be here much longer. He looked at the window again. The sky was a deep grey past the black of the stone in the dark. He gripped the fabric of his torn pants tightly, holding his knees to his chest as a shiver ran through him. The shiver wasn't from the cold though; it was in anticipation of what he was going to do. He glanced down at his hands. They were scarred from the years and they were filthy from the mud and blood still left from the battle with Eragon. He was sure the rest of his body had weathered the months just as badly. The gore coating his face had mostly been washed off by tears or had just fallen off, but he could still feel it clinging to his neck and hair. His clothes weren't much better; he could feel the stiffness of the fabric against his skin. He flexed his fingers slowly; they were stiff from the months of disuse. He grimaced at the thought of standing, but he had to. He stretched his legs out in front of him and every muscle he felt protest. As he stood his head swam and he lost his balance. The desk was just behind him and as he reached his hand out he found purchase on the sturdy wooden surface. This was going to be impossible. He had neglected himself too long to survive the hardships head of him. His weakness almost got the better of him, nearly convincing him to sit back down and wither away on the floor. Inhaling deeply, he made his way to the door.

There was no one in the hall when he opened it so he sneaked out of the room and made his way slowly to the throne room. Galbatorix wouldn't be there at this time of night, or at least he hoped he wouldn't. Much to Murtagh's surprise there were no guards, no soldiers; there was no one in the castle. He secretly wondered if he had missed some great advance in the war. If that was true then there would be no point to his venture tonight. He set aside that thought.

He turned a corner sticking close to the walls both for concealment and support. There were no guards by the throne room either. Something was up. He ducked into a crevasse and extended his mind out to feel life. There was nothing other than a few vermin in the kitchen and horses in the stables. If he hadn't been by the wall when he ended the spell he would have collapsed. He swore quietly. He'd forgotten that he was so weak. Not only was he half starved, but the loss of Thorn weighed heavily on his mind and heart, and the Eldunari were no longer connected to him through Galbatorix's bonds. It was odd to feel so powerless.

The great doors to the throne room were a few paces away and he slipped quietly through them. The room was dark in the starless night. The stone floor was icy cold even through the soles of his leather boots. The throne sat empty at the far end of the room. It seemed oddly unimpressive and benign without the King present. He walked slowly towards it, ascending the steps to the platform it sat upon. The wood it was made of was deeply stained. It seemed almost warm in the cold dark room. He reached out a hand to touch it, tracing his fingers over the intricate details. He'd never really noticed them before, but tonight they stood out in sharp relief. Inlays of stones circled the two entwined dragons that had been carved out of the back of the chair. The stones refracted what light there was in the room making them appear to be emanating light themselves. There were so many different colors in the stones, colors he didn't know how describe. Some were paler than others, and some held no color or light at all. It was a few moments before he realized the stones were dragon scales. He could feel the energy they emanated. He followed their path as they spiraled out from the dragons all the way to the edges of the wood. There had to be hundreds of scales inlaid into the throne. The thought gave him chills.

The door to the anteroom behind the throne was closed as always. Murtagh hoped it wasn't locked. Using too much magic would be a waste of energy. He tried the door and it swung open with a soft creak. The council table was centered in the room and upon the table sat Zar'roc just as he had hoped it would. He belted the sword around his waist quickly and turned to the suit guard's armor he knew would be in the corner. The heavy pitch colored cloak hung around the empty suits shoulder as faithfully useless as it always was. Murtagh unclasped the cloak and swung it over his own shoulders. It was old and dusty and a bit moth eaten, but it was warm and darkly colored so as to not stick out in the dark. He strode back out of the room and glanced around the cavernous room.

There were three doors in the Throne Room. One was the entrance, the second lead to the Council Room, and the third lead to the keep. There had to be another room somewhere. He wouldn't keep something so important away from him. He'd keep it very close to him. Galbatorix was an untrusting man and wouldn't trust anyone else with it. Murtagh heard a quiet squeak of a rat as it ran across the other side of the room. He pushed into its mind and rifled through its memories. The memories were primitive, mostly about food and shelter and other rats, but he felt an underlying fear in the rats mind. It didn't like the Throne Room.

He searched for another animal and found a small bird in the rafters. It also held a fear for the room. He reached into its memories as well. He watched it fly around the large room in great lazy circles. He studied its flight patterns. The bird never flew in the front left corner of the hall. Through the bird he watched several rats as they avoided the same area as well. That had to be it.

He withdrew his mind from the bird's and it took off in flight. The freedom of flying he had felt inside the bird's mind had reminded him so much of flying with Thorn. A bitter sadness pitted itself in his heart. He killed the bird. It landed softly on the floor. He didn't feel any better and he had wasted energy. He cursed himself and went to the corner. He couldn't feel anything odd about the corner. He felt the walls and the floor; he even went so far as to scan the area with magic. There was nothing there, only about seven feet of stone and then the hallway that he had come down earlier. He swore again, this time out loud. This was going to take too long. There was no way he could search the entire castle. God only knew where Galbatorix kept it.

He looked at the wall again. He tried every spell and wording he could come up with to open a hidden door. He scanned the area for magic. Nothing worked. He was going to kill himself of exhaustion before he found what he was looking for. Out of frustration he slammed himself into the wall, which only helped in tearing his shirt more and bruise his shoulder badly. He hadn't honestly thought it would help but it was better than giving up.

For several more minutes he stood there attempting to track down what the animals found disturbing about the corner. He traced all the cracks in the wall following them as far as they extended, in a desperate attempt to find meaning in something. Most of the cracks ended within eyesight, but a few stretched up to the ceiling. He looked across the wall towards the door and watched the concentration of the cracks decrease. It was the same on the other wall. It wasn't unusual to find cracks in stone used in buildings. Pressure and foundation changes often put stress of the stones causing them to crack. The cracks in the corner weren't just from that though. What could crack stone? The only thing he could think of was heat.

"Brisingr," he muttered. Nothing happened. The wall was warm, but not hot enough to crack it. He needed something hotter, something like…dragon's fire. He swore loudly. A door that opens only by a dragon's fire was a perfect system when you are the only one who has a dragon. At least Murtagh knew this was definitely where the Galbatorix kept it.

It was hopeless, though. Without a dragon he had no hope of opening the secret room. All the energy in the world would not allow him to sustain a flame long enough for it to compare to dragon fire. He had to try though, after all, if he died who would care? He reached out and drained the energy from any animals in the room. He didn't expect there to be many but it was worth trying. He was sure that wasn't enough. He glanced at the throne again. The dragon scales were emanating with energy.

He took all the energy out of five of them. He hoped that would be enough. The scales turned colorless and dull as the energy flowed out of them into him. Returning to the corner, he thought how he would do this. He didn't want to waste the energy.

He finally decided that the simple word for fire would work, "Brisingr," He said aloud. The flames cracked to life and grew, levitated off the floor several feet. He fueled the fire with the energy from the scales, the heat growing and heating his skin. The intensity of the flames was so bright that he had to close his eyes. When he could feel the energy waning he pushed the fire at the wall and at the same time broke the spell. The room returned to darkness and while his eyes adjusted and could feel the cold return to the room. Sections of the stone glowed red from the heat and where there had been solid stone before stood a crumbling archway.

He glanced inside: a set of narrow, steep stairs followed the path of the wall and then disappeared around a corner. The wall must be hollow. He took a torch from the wall and lit it.

The stairs were steep and by the time he reached the top he was out of breath and his legs were aching. He looked around him but the only way to go was forward. There was no way of telling where in the castle he was. The stairs had made so many turns he was lucky that he even knew right from left. He assumed the passage would go on for as long as the stairs had but after only a few steps there was a wooden door in front of him. For cautions sake he put the torch out of the wall and darkness overtook him. In the windowless room it was impossible to see anything, but a sliver of flickering light could be seen under the door. Murtagh took a deep breath and opened the door.

…_.To Be Continued…._

A/N- Chapter ten done! Never gotten to chapter ten of any story ever! Gosh those reviews you guys are giving are wonderful! All zero of them. *-_-* Please review. Thanks for reading. Also I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Clocking in at around 3,300 words!

MG7


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